


thick as thieves

by nifeandaccurate (12AM)



Series: it takes three to tango [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Backstory, Friendship, Gen, Guns, Horror (brief), M/M, Minor Character Death, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4959826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/12AM/pseuds/nifeandaccurate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between the three of them, they have a stolen PASIV, one legal identity, and a lot of radio silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thick as thieves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beili](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beili/gifts).



> Much love to [Tre](http://archiveofourown.org/users/trevania/) for the beta and to [velificantes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/velificatio/) for the advice. 
> 
> Written for the Inception Reverse Bang and inspired by beili's lovely artwork.  
> 
> 
> Check out the masterpost [here](http://i-reversebang.livejournal.com/96594.html) and come say hi to me on tumblr [here!](http://nifeandaccurate.tumblr.com/)

 

Mal wakes up at three in the morning to the sound of someone banging on her front door. She blearily reaches for her alarm clock and squints at the time. When the universe fails to send a clue to what's going on, she shuffles out of bed and goes to answer it.

She swings open the door. Outside, there's a man holding a silver briefcase in one hand and has the other raised to knock again. Behind him, another man's standing there, looking slightly lost.

"Eames," she says, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

She hasn't heard from him in months. The last time he called, he was stationed in America, involved in some kind of experiment he wasn't allowed to talk about. After that, there was nothing. She tried calling him multiple times only to be met with dead air. A few weeks later, the line was disconnected.

It hasn't been easy keeping in touch since Eames joined the military, but it’s never been like this before.

He looks exhausted, clothes rumpled and a yellowing bruise on one cheek. The briefcase he's clutching is banged up and covered in scratches. He looks like he hasn't stopped moving in weeks. The man behind him doesn't look much better, with bloodshot eyes and one hand bandaged.   

Eames smiles tiredly. "I was in the neighborhood," he says.

She bites her tongue and decides not to push for anything more while they're standing in the doorway and pulls them inside. Standing in the dim light of her living room, they look even worse. Giving into the urge, she gently cups Eames' bruised cheek in her hand, peering into his eyes, looking for any signs of head trauma.

Reassured with what she sees, she asks Eames in a quiet voice, "So, are you going to introduce us?” and nods towards the stranger standing in her living room.

"This is Arthur, I met him when I was stationed in America," he says. Arthur gives her a quiet nod.

He looks nervous, eyes darting around the room. His hair is plastered to his head and curls around his ears. The overcoat he’s wearing is too big for his frame and Mal suspects that there are weapons hidden underneath it.

Eames bites his lip. "Mal, I'm sorry for showing up like this, but we didn't have anywhere else to go."

She places a hand on his arm. "Eames, chéri, I would never turn you away. My home is yours. Now, it is late and we will talk later but we all need some sleep." She darts a look at Arthur. "I'll get some sheets for the guest room."

Before she can move towards the hallway, Eames stops her and pulls her into a tight hug. "I've missed you," he says roughly. She runs a hand down his back. "I'm glad you're back," she says softly.

 

 

Lying in her own bed again, Mal listens to the quiet sounds of Eames and Arthur moving around in the guest room. Arthur hasn't spoken a word to her since arriving.

She knows Eames wouldn't bring just anyone to her home. If he trusts Arthur, then she's willing to let the matter rest for now. Still, she wonders what sort of relationship they have. Before, he was never one for anything serious and it's just been the two of them for a long time.

It's been a while since she couldn't read Eames on something.

 

In the morning, she shuffles out of bed and is almost to the kitchen when she hears faint murmuring ahead. She can't quite make out what Eames and Arthur are saying but she flattens herself to the wall anyways. She stays there in the hallway for a few minutes, just listening to the sounds of the two of them moving around in her kitchen, reminding herself that last night was not a dream.

When she walks in, Arthur's sitting on a stool, watching Eames fumble open the cabinets, one after another. They turn around at her entrance and Arthur goes quiet.

"Good morning, Mal!" Eames says, unreasonably cheerful for how early it is. "Where do you keep your tea?"

"It’s in the second cabinet as always, you philistine." She walks over to the coffeemaker and notices it's already been switched on. She pours herself a cup and nods at Eames in thanks.

"Good morning, Arthur," she says. She notices he's sitting with his hands in his lap, curled in on himself. "Would you like some coffee?"

He looks a little startled that she's talking to him. "No, thank you," he says quietly, and he slips out of the kitchen. She hears the click of the guest room door closing a second later.   

Eames looks mildly apologetic. “Sorry, dear, he’s a bit jumpy.”  

"Don’t worry about it,” she says, cupping her mug in her hands and taking a sip. “So,” she says, aiming to keep her tone neutral, “What have you been up to?"

Eames has his back turned to her, fiddling with a teabag in his hands. She thinks about dropping the conversation but then he starts talking. "Remember that project I mentioned? Well, it was shut down," he says, voice carefully light, "So I left."

He doesn't say what exactly he left behind but Mal is guessing that it wasn't a joint decision with the military.

He turns around to face her and smiles faintly. "And now I'm here," he says.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like," she says softly.

He reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. She squeezes back.

“Now,” he says, clearing his throat, “what would you like for breakfast?”

She hums in consideration, “Pancakes sound divine but I’m not sure if I have any flour left.”

Eames opens the nearest cabinet to check. He’s stretched up, reaching for something on a high shelf when suddenly, there’s a loud noise from outside. A neighbor slams their door shut and the _bang_ echoes around the hallway.

Eames jerks back and an empty mug falls to the ground, shattering. He flinches violently, and Mal is left staring.

A second passes and Eames bends down to collect the broken pieces, refusing to meet her eye. One shard cuts into his palm and he winces, dropping it on the ground. Mal grabs his wrist and runs the shallow cut under the faucet.

“Please be careful with yourself, Eames,” she murmurs.

 

 

In the end, breakfast is put aside and they leave the table quietly. Soon after, Eames disappears, taking Arthur with him, muttering something about luggage and suitcases. When the door shuts behind them, she worries her lip between her teeth for a moment before slipping to the hallway outside of the guest room.

She pushes open the door slowly and takes in the sight. The sheets on the air mattress are rumpled and when she walks closer, she notices something black sticking out underneath them. Raising the sheets with a hand, she stares at the gun underneath them. She carefully lets the bedsheet fall back over it.

On the desk, there are a couple of papers scattered around, a folder marked classified, and two IDs. She glances over the glossy images and they're grim faced headshots of Eames and Arthur with different names on the front.

There's no sign of the silver briefcase from last night in the room.

When she leaves, she closes the door gently behind her.

 

 

When Eames and Arthur come back a few hours later, they’re dragging in suitcases behind them.

"I thought I'd make dinner tonight," Eames says cheerfully, setting some of the bags down on the kitchen counter. Arthur takes the suitcases and moves them into the guest room, the door shutting with a click behind him.

"Eames," Mal says quietly but firmly, "I think we need to talk."

 

 

She pulls him into her room and shuts the door behind them. She looks him in the eye and asks, "Is there anyone coming after you?"

"No. Not anymore." He bites his lip. "We took something with us when we left. We burned all the bridges that we had. It took us a lot of time to erase our tracks, but we did it.”

He reaches out and takes her hands. “Mal, I would never get you involved in that mess.  I promise.”

She hesitates for a second. “Okay.”

He rests his head on her shoulder. “One day, I’ll tell you everything. I just can’t right now. Just, please, give me some time.”

She wraps her arms around him. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

 

 

She comes home from her weekly lunch with her father in a daze, eyes fever bright. When she walks into the living room, Eames and Arthur are sitting on the couch, talking quietly to one another. Eames notices her first, and gets up to meet her.

"Darling, are you okay?" he asks, concerned. "Did something happen?"

"I...," she pauses, lost for words. "Eames, can I speak to you alone?"

He shoots a concerned look at Arthur but nods. He follows her to her room and closes the door quietly behind them. "Mal, what's going on?"

"My father spoke with me. He showed me something, a machine that lets people dream together." She looks at him, lost in wonder and confusion. "Eames, have you heard about this?"

“Mal,” he says urgently, “What did he show you?”

“A PASIV,” she says. “He showed me how you can create a new world—”

Eames spins away and starts pacing back and forth. “Shit. _Shit_.”

Frowning, she tries to meet his gaze, broken out of her trance by his agitation. “Eames, what’s wrong?”

He stops in his tracks, still wringing his hands. “Mal,” he says, looking into her eyes, “I need to tell Arthur about this. Is that okay?”

“Yes, but please, tell me what’s the matter,” Mal says.

He strides towards the door, saying, “I’m sorry but I need to tell him first,” and she is left staring at the open doorway. There’s hushed rapid conversation going on in the living room and she falls back onto her bed, covering her eyes with an arm.

She thinks back onto the bright sunshine that was part of the world her father created before her eyes and she lets her mind wander, thinking about all the things she could create.

 

 

She doesn’t know how much time has passed when there’s a knock on the door and she sits up. Eames walks in with Arthur right behind him. He sits down on the bed next to her and Arthur takes a seat on the corner.

Eames shoots a look at Arthur and then takes Mal’s hands in his. “I want to tell you about what happened to Arthur and I in the military.”

Mal squeezes his hands. “Okay.”

“We were recruited to take part in Project Somnacin,” he says, “We were separated from our troops and kept in a government facility. They told us about the PASIV and we were the first guinea pigs.”

“They would take us under for hours at a time,” he goes on, “They’d run drills, giving us weapons and seeing what we could do with them.”

He falters and Arthur takes over for him. “In dreams, you can’t wake up unless the timer runs out or you die. They’d pit us against each other and when we woke up, they’d put us under again.”

“A lot of people in Project Somnacin didn’t make it through,” Arthur continues. “Two people died in the first week and after two months, five more people had lost a lot of mental capacity.”

Eames speaks in a rough voice, “By the time Arthur and I left, we were the only ones in the program. We took a PASIV with us when we ran. We thought that when we left, that would be the end of it. That dreamshare would stay contained in the military and it would die there.”

“But since academia has entered the scene,” Eames says, “We don’t know how many people have PASIVs and what they plan on doing with them.”

“Mal,” he says, “What do you want to do?”

She stares at him, wide-eyed.

“If you want to try dreamshare, Arthur and I will go with you,” Eames says.

She grips his hands so tight they might bruise. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s do it, together.”

 

 

The first time they all dream together, Mal lies through her teeth to her father and sneaks out two extra lab passes in her purse and scrambles the security camera feed. They get there in the morning, when no one else is in the building. She locks the door behind them and jams a chair back under the door handle.

Arthur pries open the casing of the lab’s PASIV and goes through the guts of it, cataloguing all the differences between this one and the one hidden in Mal’s apartment. He carefully reconnects all the wires and tubing and sets the timer for ten minutes.

After that first dream, Mal walks around with her head in the clouds for days, caught up in the possibilities and the freedom of it all.

The next time, they sneak in at night, an hour before the gates are locked. Mal takes the reins this time, letting her mind run wild. When she tries flipping the ground beneath their feet, the dream throws her awake and she’s _thrilled_.

After that, she stops keeping track because every dream is something new and gets her blood racing. The edges of the dreams start blurring together  in her mind and she couldn’t care less.

 

 

One morning, when they get to the lab, there’s a package wrapped in brown paper waiting for them. She peers down at the label and frowns.

“Strange, we’re not expecting a delivery,” she murmurs. Eames reaches over and picks up the box to inspect it.

“Looks normal to me,” he says. “Arthur?” Eames hands it over. Arthur takes the package and runs his hands along the wrapping seams. He sniffs the paper and apparently mollified, hands it back to Mal.

She peels back the wrapping and inside, there are carefully packaged vials with numbers running down the sides. She pulls out the letter tucked into the side and reads it.

“My father said it’s a new formula; the council wants it tested out and any differences documented. It should heighten our senses.”

Eames picks up a vial and peers into it. “We need to be careful, darling. There’s no telling how new compounds will react.”

Arthur starts preparing the PASIV, unspooling the canullas and opening the valves. “I’ll stay up top,” he says.

Mal takes the vial from Eames’ hands and rolls it between finger and thumb, staring into the clear liquid inside while Eames goes and drags two lawn chairs to the center of the room.

After they double-check the dosages and the locks on the doors and windows, Mal and Eames lie down on the lawn chairs. Eames reaches over and squeezes her hand. “Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” she says, and Arthur presses the button.

 

 

When she opens her eyes, she’s alone on a darkened street. She looks around for any signs of life, but the road is empty. “Eames?” she calls out, and her voice echoes back at her. She picks a direction and starts walking, footsteps muted on the asphalt.

A faint whirring sound follows her and out of the corner of her eye, she notices a security camera mounted on the side of a building, turning to follow her. Her footsteps suddenly sound louder in her ears, but she can’t tell if it’s because someone’s shadowing her or just her own imagination.

She wants to glance over her shoulder but there’s something stopping her. Her body protests against the command. Her feet keep propelling her forward and she can’t slow down or turn around and the feeling of someone watching her intensifies.

A cold sweat takes over her and she starts running, feet slapping against the ground, trying to outrun whatever is behind her. Suddenly, she hears the sound of heavy breathing behind her and a hand swipes at her arm.

She wrenches herself away but there’s another hand, pulling at her shirt and another at her leg and another and another—

She screams, body protesting from being pulled to a sudden stop, and she’s kicking and her throat is hoarse but she can’t stop screaming.

A sharp cold suddenly pierces through her and she looks down and there’s a blade sticking through her chest and a dark red stain spreading quickly and a sick horror is coming over her when—

She wakes up. Chest heaving, she sits up, wide-eyed and heart racing. Arthur’s sitting by her and she grabs onto his shoulders, unseeing of his flinch.

“Arthur,” she says, still gasping for breath, “we have to get out of here, they’re going to find us—,” she breaks off, seeing Eames’ still sleeping body.  

Practically hurling herself off of her lawn chair, she pulls Eames off of the side of his, cushioning his head with her arms. When his eyes fly awake, she tries to haul him upright.

“Eames, please, we need to move!”

“Darling,” he starts, then stops when he sees how wild her eyes are. He quickly takes her wrist in a hand and feels the hammering of her pulse. “Darling,” he tries again, “we’re safe. Arthur and I will protect you.”

He makes eye contact with Arthur and nods at the door. Arthur quietly goes to cover the door, slipping his gun out of his holster and keeping a finger over the safety. Eames gently holds her face in between his hands and keeps steady eye contact with her. “Mal, you’re awake. Arthur and I are going to get you out of here. Do you trust me?”

She nods.

He helps her to his feet and quickly packs up the PASIV. Holding it in one hand and a gun in the other, he quickly walks with her to the door. Arthur covers the front and he takes the back as they move out of the building, seen by no one.

Arthur drives them home, hitting the gas pedal and taking a winding path, while Eames sits with Mal in the backseat. When they get finally get back, they rush through the front door, Arthur pulling all the blinds shut and Eames locking the door securely behind them.

Eames gently guides Mal to the couch, keeping up a quiet mantra of “We’re safe, we’re safe,” in her ears. Arthur sits on her other side, gun still firmly in his hands. In between them, she begins to shake apart. Shoulders trembling, she leans into Eames’ side and starts to weep.

That night, they sleep in the same bed. Eames takes the side closest to the door and Arthur is sitting up against the wall. She tosses and turns but manages to fall into a deep and dreamless sleep lying between them.

 

 

Three days later, after carefully maneuvering around the elephant in the room, Mal says to Eames, “I want you to teach me how to shoot.”

Eames blinks slowly. “Okay,” he says.

They all get into a cab that takes them to a shooting galley almost outside of town. When they walk in, there are only four other people there. Mal takes a booth on the far side, away from prying eyes. Eames takes position behind her, guiding her stance and aim. Arthur stands watch, quietly glaring away anyone who glances over.

It takes her twenty minutes to get used to the recoil and ten more to the smell of gunpowder. Eames gently places his hands over hers until the jump of the gun in her hands starts feeling less foreign and she begins to anticipate the kick.

When they get home, Eames disappears into his room for a minute. When he comes back, he gently places a Beretta in her hands, folding her fingers around it. “I want you to have it,” he says. She runs her fingers over the grip and feels the nicks and scratches across the surface, worn in by time.

“Thank you,” she says.

 

 

“Eames, tell me a story,” Mal requests. She’s sprawled across the couch, her head in Eames’ lap. In the background, she can hear the sounds of Arthur moving around in the kitchen, making dinner.

Eames absentmindedly strokes her hair. “What kind of story would you like?”

She twists a strand of hair around a finger. “Tell me, what kind of jobs did you do in the military?”

His hands pause for a second before resuming their soothing rhythm. “We did whatever they asked us to,” he says quietly. “We were the interrogation team’s secret weapon; we stole the secrets they couldn’t get out.”

She bites her lip. “… What’s it like? Stealing secrets.”

“It’s like gambling in dark room where the rules are always changing and you don’t know the stakes.” He smiles ruefully. “You want to try it, don’t you?”

“Will you take me?” she asks. “I don’t want to do it unless you’re there too.”

Eames huffs out a breath. “Okay, let’s do it.”

 

 

For their first job, it’s a quick extraction. Arthur’s gone over the dossiers several times with them and they’re ready. She’s on distraction duty with Eames, while Arthur tracks down the very rich mark’s safe and finds what their employer is looking for.

She’s wearing a hat with a wide brim and sunglasses when they walk up to the mark’s office building. The secretary their employer paid off lets them in and Arthur pulls out the hypodermic needle. She waits outside with Eames while Arthur walks in and they follow him in when they hear the dull thump of a body hitting the ground.

She sets up the PASIV while Eames and Arthur drag the mark to the middle of the floor. Unspooling the cannulas, she hands each of them one and slides her own in with a slight wince.

She looks over and sees Eames prodding himself in the arm and takes the needle from him. He gives her a wry smile and she slips the needle into his arm.

Making a face at the carpet, she lies down next to him. She shoots Eames a look brimming with trepidation that he returns.

“Ready?” Arthur asks, hand over the plunger.

She closes her eyes and says, “Yes.”

 

 

When it comes down to it, it’s a standard power trip. The mark’s seated in a gilded throne, holding court above a throng of people swaying gently on the ballroom floor. That doesn’t stop her from laughing behind her hand at the amount of gold trim she sees and how _obvious_ it all is.

Eames shoots her an amused look as Arthur detaches himself from their side and melts into the crowd. She holds her hand out in invitation and says, “Dance with me?”

He takes her hand and leads her out onto the dance floor. They get a few sideways looks from projections, but nothing beyond a glance.

He leans down and whispers, “Let’s give them something to stare at.”

Moving to the music, they twirl around the floor until they’re in the center of the crowd. When he dips her, the whispers start. She lets him spin her around in his arms and they’re giggling breathlessly by the end of it. The projections have all turned to stare at them but she barely notices when they’re gliding around the room.

They keep dancing, moving effortlessly step in step, until the kick music starts swelling. When she opens her eyes in the real world, she’s still smiling.

 

 

“How long do you want on the timer?” Arthur asks.

“Just five minutes,” Eames replies, and they go under. They wake up in a familiar city and Eames turns to Mal and says with a grin, “Fingers crossed this works.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. In a blink, his body warps and reforms, like a mirage taking shape in front of her eyes. She stares at him with wonder. A mirror image of herself takes a few steps and says in her voice, “Look!”

Eames-as-Mal spreads her arms wide and spins around. When she laughs, it’s in Mal’s voice but the joy belongs to both of them.

“Wow,” Mal breathes out. A peal of laughter escapes her, ringing high and bright. “Show me how.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> TBC

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [roads like wine, and desires like water](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4971214) by [beili](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beili/pseuds/beili)




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